


Various Sam/Dean Drabbles 2

by sinfuldesire_archivist



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Drabble, During Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-08-21
Updated: 2006-08-21
Packaged: 2018-09-03 04:31:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,436
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8696647
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sinfuldesire_archivist/pseuds/sinfuldesire_archivist
Summary: Five Sam/Dean drabbles.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Note from the Sinful Desire archivists: this story was originally archived at [Sinful-Desire.org](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Sinful_Desire). To preserve the archive, we began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in November 2016. We e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact us using the e-mail address on [Sinful Desire collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/sinfuldesire/profile).

**Sam/Dean drabbles**  
  
i.  
  
For [ ](http://possiblyxxmaybe.livejournal.com/profile)[**possiblyxxmaybe**](http://possiblyxxmaybe.livejournal.com/): _Sam driving Dean crazy sucking (Cheeto) cheese-powder from his fingers._  
  
  
“Don’t get that shit on my baby.”  
  
Sam glanced over to find his brother wiping sleepy eyes, stretching in the seat, but his attention was clearly trained where Sam’s hand was digging through a bag of Cheetos. Sam glanced down, glimpsing the orange powder coating his fingers and then followed Dean’s gaze to the Impala’s steering wheel.  
  
He had to smirk. “What was that bit about shotgun shuts his cake-hole?” He deliberately snagged another chip and tossed it into his mouth.  
  
“I’m not even fucking kidding, Sammy.” Dean’s voice grew harder, and so did Sam. He’d never admit it – out loud, anyway – but whenever Dean got all bossy and domineering, it got Sam off like nothing else. Which meant he had to counter by getting irritated and emotional, lest Dean finally fucking figure it out.  
  
He heaved a sigh, taking the exit toward Illinois with a muffled yawn of his own. “Shut up and go back to sleep, Dean. We got another fifty miles.”  
  
There was dead silence, and then lightning quick Dean had his free hand in a vice grip, and Sam let out a little yelp. The Impala swerved a bit before he regained control, jerking his hand and glaring at Dean out of the corner of his eye. “What the hell? You gonna kill us over some fucking cheesy powder on the steering wheel?”  
  
“First of all, I would. And secondly, shut the fuck up.” And before Sam could reply, Dean took one of his fingers into his mouth – his warm, wet, fucking _mouth_ \- and said, “Keep your eyes on the road, Sam.”  
  
Sam stopped fighting him, eyes flicking back and forth between the road and the long, slow licks of Dean’s tongue. A quiet groan escaped his lips, and he shifted in the seat when Dean switched to a different finger. “Damn it…you are _such_ a freak about this car,” he managed, torn between amusement, exasperation, and just being plain turned on.  
  
Dean just smiled around his finger and sucked harder.  
  
  
  
ii.  
  
For [ ](http://angel-1013.livejournal.com/profile)[**angel_1013**](http://angel-1013.livejournal.com/): _angsty!Dean; non-Wincest._  
  
  
The first month after Sam left, Dean found himself – alone – and up against a pack of werewolves. He came out of it with a new scar and his brother’s name a curse upon his lips.  
  
The sixth month, Dad picked a fight, Dean supported Sam’s decision to leave, and came out of it with a bloody lip and more bitterness toward the family he’d sworn to always protect.  
  
The twelfth month he spent in a near-coma after a misstep with a nasty poltergeist. He’d been in the wrong place at the wrong time, and that was more of a blow than anything else could’ve been.  
  
Because Sam should’ve been there. Should’ve had Dean’s back. Shouldn’t have been off partying at a dorm and studying ways to better himself in society’s eyes. What Dean felt, what _Dean_ saw when he looked at his little brother should’ve mattered more than some fucking stranger on the street.  
  
But it never had.  
  
And that hurt more than the scars, the wounds, and everything else combined.  
  
  
  
iii.  
  
  
For [ ](http://nymeria.livejournal.com/profile)[**nymeria**](http://nymeria.livejournal.com/): _Dean, Sam, sex on beaches isn't all it's cracked out to be._  
  
“Stop moving around so much.”  
  
”Well, excuse _me_ , I thought that was kinda the point.”  
  
Sam gritted his teeth at his brother’s wounded tone. His fingers dug into Dean’s hips, and he tried to enjoy the feel of his brother – hot, tight and wrapped around his dick – but the sad fact was, the sand currently wedging its way up his ass crack was taking dramatic precedence.  
  
“Whose idea was this anyway?” Dean grumbled, like _he_ was the one spread out on the beach with grains of sand where they shouldn’t be and crabs nipping at his fucking hair. “Because I gotta tell ya, Sammy, this is _way_ below your usual standard.”  
  
“Fuck…you,” Sam managed, reaching out and knocking one of the curious crustaceans away. “And this was _your_ idea, you freaking jerk. Or have you forgotten how _hot_ you said it would be to fuck on the beach? God, I hate you so much.”  
  
“Aw, sugar, that’s just the sex talkin’.” Dean grinned, teeth flashing in the moonlight, and Sam growled low in his chest. Dean slid off of him, brushing at his chest and sniffing. “Jeez, lighten up…we can take it back to the hotel, ya big baby.”  
  
“Only if I get to shove a sandbox up your ass.” But Sam was already coming to his feet and following his laughing brother through the dunes.  
  
  
iv.  
  
For [ ](http://sugarsweet327.livejournal.com/profile)[**sugarsweet327**](http://sugarsweet327.livejournal.com/): _Sam and Dean go grocery shopping for rock salt._  
  
Sam stared at the bags of rock salt in his brother’s cart, resisting the urge to rub his temples. “Dean,” he tried for a conciliatory tone, knowing anything and everything was likely to set his brother off these days. “We don’t live in Alaska, so I kind of doubt people are gonna believe all that’s to salt the roads.”  
  
Dean glanced down, confusion written across his features, and then shrugged. “Who cares what other people think, Sam? Oh, that’s right. You.” The words were pointed, and more than a little cool.  
  
Sam sighed, biting back the usual retort. _I didn’t leave you, Dean. I left_ this.  
  
“Anyway, I got some of this to throw them off,” Dean continued, tossing a carton of Morton’s table salt at Sam’s chest.  
  
He caught it easily, and cocked a brow, relieved that the awkward moment seemed to have passed. Knowing it wouldn’t be very long before the next one happened. “And how will this throw anyone off?”  
  
Dean’s teeth gleamed under the store lights as he produced a bottle of tequila, and Sam’s heart twisted a bit. It was such a rarity for Dean to smile anymore, at least around Sam.  
  
“Body shots, little brother,” Dean answered, and Jesus…his voice was more a purr than anything else. “So buck up and act like you’re about to go back to my seedy motel room and do nefarious, illegal things to my body. That’ll distract the cashier well enough.”  
  
Sam sputtered, staring as his brother cackled and turned toward the front of the store. It wasn’t until Dean shot an enigmatic look over his shoulder that Sam realized that things were about to get very interesting.  
  
  
v.  
  
For [ ](http://benitle.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://benitle.livejournal.com/)**benitle** : _Wee!cest. Sam makes Dean dinner and cuts his finger._  
  
  
He was such a fucking idiot.  
  
Sam whimpered, holding his injured finger and staring as the crimson drops fell from the torn flesh and decorated the counter and floor below in a gruesome pattern. The fresh pineapple – Dean’s favorite, and something they rarely could afford in season – lay forgotten beside the plate of macaroni and cheese – Dean’s favorite dish.  
  
His brother was due home from the garage any minute, and instead of a dinner Sam had prepared all by himself, he was gonna find his little brother needing to be stitched up because he was a fucking _idiot_ who couldn’t even cut open a pineapple without hurting himself.  
  
As if on cue, the front door slammed, followed by Dean’s cheerful whistling. There was the distinct sound of a coat flopping against the table, and then Dean called out, “Sammy? Where are you?”  
  
Sam’s lip trembled. “I-In the kitchen.”  
  
Dean appeared, a grin on his face. “Dad should be back tomorrow, but I was thinking…” He trailed off at once, surveying the damage and the tears stinging Sam’s eyes. “Please tell me that’s ketchup,” he managed, gaze flicking from the blood to Sam’s expression.  
  
“I’m sorry, I just wanted to surprise you and—” Sam trailed off, biting back a groan as a flash of pain in his finger brought bile to the back of his throat.  
  
Dean was across the room in an instant, all worried eyes and concerned, gentle hands. “Lemme see,” he said, gingerly taking Sam’s palm and studying the cut. He sucked in sympathetically. “Oh, Sammy, got yourself good, huh?”  
  
Sam just nodded, embarrassed and unable to meet his brother’s eyes.  
  
“I bet it hurts like hell.” Dean led him over to the sink, reaching up into the cabinet to get the medical supplies and still talking to Sam in that deep, reassuring voice. “I would’ve passed out already, Sam. All that blood?” He gave a dramatic shiver that had Sam’s lips quirking. “You’re a lot braver than me, little brother.”  
  
“Whatever.” But Sam was smiling now, and feeling a lot less like an idiot when Dean looked up and grinned back, squeezing Sam’s other hand.  
  
 

* * *

  
  


End file.
